ou will go into a private hell of your own,
Terri Mac. You will tell the story of your own evil to that girl over
and over again, pleading to be believed. And they will not believe
you. And in the end they will kill you, just to be on the safe side.
Because, you see, you _might_ have been doing something traitorous in
these two shielded hours."

Terri's head bobbed limply, like a drunken man's. He made one last
effort. "Why?" he said. "Why do you do this? Your life. For a girl who
was no connection to you?"

The old man folded his hands.

"I was a little like your governor," he said. "We all have our sins. I
loved Kilaren and the shock of her death wrecked my health." He cocked
his head suddenly on one side. "Listen," he said.

From beyond the closed door of the room, a high-pitched humming was
barely audible. It grew in volume, going up the scale. Terri leaped to
his feet; and for the space of a couple of seconds, he lunged first
this way then that, like a wild animal beating against its trap. Then,
as if all will had at last gone out of him, he stopped in the middle
of the room and closed his eyes. For a fraction of a moment he stood
there, before a faint convulsion seized him and he fell.

With a faint smile on his face, the old man reached out to a hidden
switch and cut the shield about the room. Uniformed guards tumbled
through the door, to pull up in dismay at the sight of the body on the
floor.

"I'm sorry," said the old man, "I must have turned the shield on by
mistake. I was trying to signal someone. The Comptroller seems to have
had a heart attack."

THE END

* * * * *

End of Project Gutenberg's No Shield from the Dead, by Gordon Rupert Dickson

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